


Reversal

by LearnedFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Resurrected Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, Well maybe the smallest bit of plot, Which Peter Tries to Solve With Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Sometimes, Tony is the one who needs to be praised.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 68
Kudos: 601
Collections: Mind The Age Gap Flash Fic Prompt Meme





	Reversal

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [agegapflashficpromptmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/agegapflashficpromptmeme) collection. 

> For the [Mind The Age Gap Flash Fic Prompt Meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/agegapflashficpromptmeme), and dedicated to the nonny who asked for the following: “Tony Stark has a praise kink too! Peter holds him down and rides him, telling him how much he loves and appreciates every part of Tony, and all Tony can do is lie back and take it.”
> 
> I hope this gives you what you were looking for!

The first time Peter kissed him, drunk and giggling, at an Avengers Christmas party, Tony knew it was a bad idea. That didn’t stop him from kissing back, fingers curving around that supple neck, pressing him against the doorframe, making a lame joke about how yeah, there’s mistletoe, he’s morally obligated to return the kiss.

But mistletoe didn’t explain why he dragged Peter to his room, tossed him onto his bed, kissed him until he was hard and squirming and begging. It definitely wasn’t an excuse for pounding into him, pants down, shirts still on, the only soundtrack heavy breathing, the slap of balls to skin, and the faint melody of Christmas jingles floating up through the tower. No, that was all Tony, what little sense of self-control and good decision-making he’d built up over the years wiped clean by death and rebirth and a desperate desire to touch and be touched.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed feeling someone else close to him until it was too late, until he was coming with a groan, whispering that Peter felt perfect, just perfect.

That had been a bad idea. A worse idea was letting Peter grab his hand after, as Tony was trying to pull on his pants, planning to slink back into the party like nothing happened. It was looking into those wide eyes as he whispered, “Mr. Stark—Tony—stay. Please?”

Staying. That was the worst idea.

Because here he is a month later, ridiculously, overwhelmingly, stupidly, insanely in love.

Like a god damn idiot.

***

The thing is, being dead for four years really fucks up your life. Your wife moves on, your daughter only half remembers you. Your team reconfigures around a new Cap, someone buys back your tower and redecorates it with no taste at all. Your best friend ends up vice president of the fucking country—good for the world, bad for Tony, because it turns out being veep doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of time for broing down, not even with your newly resurrected bestie.

Tony had, he likes to think, been taking it all in relative stride. He’d graciously accepted the room the NewVengers offered without complaining that it’s not nearly as big as his old one, and also the walls are an awful shade of off-white. (He hadn’t known off-white could be awful, but you live and learn.) He’d met all the new kids—well, he says kids, as if Peter isn’t still the youngest by a mile—started training, even went to the damn therapist Sam insists he needs to see once a week if he wants back on the team.

“I don’t think anyone is equipped to deal with my emotional baggage,” Tony complained when he was first told about this absurd requirement. “What with the whole sacrificing my life to save the universe thing.”

“Half the world died and came back,” Sam replied dryly. “You’re not actually that special.”

(Tony likes Sam. He knows when not to beat around the bush.)

One way or another, in those first six months back Tony had found…not peace, not close, but something resembling stability. He’d been getting there, anyway. One day at a time. And Peter had been such a big part of that: the one person from Tony’s old life who still seemed to have time for him. Who hadn’t changed so much it made his head spin. Oh, he’d grown up a bit, sure. He’s more measured, more cautious when talking battle strategy. He knows how to use Tony’s labs, is already taking graduate level classes in chemistry and engineering. There are other changes too, changes Tony had tried not to think about as much. The extra inches, the definition in his jaw; the haunted stare he gets when someone mentions Beck, or Tony’s death, or really anything that happened with Thanos.

But the differences were so much less than what was the same: the way he slipped back into Tony’s life, eager to learn from him, to dive into labs, to watch movies and cook dinner and just _be there_, as if it’s not completely, totally insane that Tony is suddenly back. As if they hadn’t lost four years. Peter was his touchstone, the most stable thing in his life, and he went and fell in love with him.

So, let him repeat: god damn idiot.

***

“Is that so awful?” the therapist asks when he brings it up. “Most people want to fall in love with someone who makes them feel grounded.”

“Not when they’re the _only _person who makes them feel that way,” Tony says. Not when losing them will be the end of the world. Again. “Not when that person is twenty.” 

The therapist opens her mouth, takes a breath as if she’s about to say something, then stops. She adjusts her shawl. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

Tony doesn’t bother to answer. As if he needs to scare the kid away faster. What twenty-year-old is looking to hear, “you’re the one thing keeping me sane, when we break up it’s going to break me”? What _person _wants hear that a month in?

It’s too much. It’s borderline unhealthy. It’s why he never should have started this in the first place.

***

But he did start it, so he tries to make it as good as he can. Maybe that way it will last. Last longer, anyway. He learns how Peter likes it: rough and possessive, Tony biting marks into his neck, gripping his waist so hard it leaves bruises that never last. He enjoys the sharp sting of Tony’s hand smacking his ass, fingers yanking his hair. And most of all he likes it when Tony talks, tells him how well he’s doing, how beautiful he is, how much he wants him.

Twice now, Tony has made him come with words alone. It’s not hard. He just says what he’s feeling.

Sometimes, when he’s really lost in it, the heat of Peter’s body and the thrill of his touch running through his veins, Tony says _exactly _what he’s feeling: “God, I don’t deserve you. Look at you. You’re perfect. I’m lucky to even touch you.”

Two days after the meeting with the therapist, mind gone entirely watching Peter come undone for the third time that night, he adds: “I’ll never get over you, kid.”

***

That night as they stretch in bed, a pile of overlapping limbs, worn out and matted with sweat, fingers laced together, kissing slowly, Peter stops to say, “That stuff about not deserving me, you don’t really mean that, right?”

Tony’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t want to; he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not right now. But he’s also not sure he has the strength, with Peter so soft, so near, to lie convincingly. 

“Of course I mean it. Have you met yourself?” He tries to hit a middle ground. Make it sound like a joke, a compliment but not a deep truth, not the fear that constantly clings to him laid bare. “No one deserves you.”

Peter smiles, the small little smile he gets whenever Tony compliments him. It comes with the faintest blush, a shy duck of the head, and it always makes Tony want to kiss him, which he does, because he can. He can for now, and he’ll take advantage of that every chance he gets.

“Okay, okay,” Peter laughs, pushing him back. “But cheesy lines aside, you don’t, right? You don’t think that? Not seriously?”

“Sure, of course not,” Tony agrees, but it might be a few beats too late. He goes back to kissing Peter before he can push. There’s no reason to get into it.

***

He wakes up the next morning with Peter on top of him, pressing lazy kisses to the corner of his jaw. He’s already hard, dick grazing the sheet that drapes over them, body apparently way ahead of his conscious mind. He can feel Peter’s dick, too, not only hard but slick with precome, jutting against his stomach.

“Morning, eager beaver,” Tony murmurs, raising his arms, still heavy with sleep, to wrap around Peter’s waist. “What’s got you all excited? Good dreams?”

“You,” Peter replies, moving from Tony’s neck to his lips. “It’s always you.”

The words settle in Tony’s chest, warm and earnest. He kisses back, languid, simply enjoying the weight of Peter’s body on his, the taste of his mouth, sharp with the mint of recent brushing. If it weren’t for the subtle way Peter is rubbing against his stomach, dicking sliding through his own precome, Tony would think this is just a long hello, a wake up greeting. They aren’t usually morning sex people, normally too eager to start the day—sex is for breaks and winding down and relieving stress. Not today. Tony knows Peter well enough by now to know when he wants more, and as soft and pliant and slow as he’s being, he wants more.

But when Tony tries lunge up, hand weaving into Peter’s hair, meaning to take control, Peter sits back, sheet sliding off. He holds Tony down with a hand to his chest, using just enough of his strength that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. It’s a surprise, a jolt to the system, something Peter never does. It goes straight to Tony’s dick, which bounces, leaking. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“I was thinking something a little different,” Peter explains. “If that’s okay with you?”

Tony shrugs, settling back. Listen, he’s still only half awake, with the most beautiful person he’s ever met staring down at him, tongue darting nervously between his lips. He’d say yes to just about anything right now. “Whatever you want. You know that.”

Peter smiles at that, but to Tony’s disappointment, he doesn’t lean back down to kiss him again. Instead, he stays where he is, thighs bracketing Tony’s hips, cocking stiff and appealing. Normally, Tony would reach for it, bring Peter off with fast strokes, or maybe guide him forward until he could wrap his lips around the length, encouraging Peter to thrust down his throat with abandon. But Peter seems content to just sit there, fingers tracing disjointed patterns across Tony’s chest, soft and tickling, enough to make his skin buzz, but not much more.

“I love your scars,” Peter muses after the teasing has gone on long enough that it’s starting to drive Tony a little crazy. It’s only then he realizes the patterns weren’t random: Peter is charting the marks on his skin, the map of his losses, all the times he almost failed, almost didn’t get back up. Ironically, the big one, the one where he stayed down, left no trace. Four years of his life gone, and not a mark. “They’re great.”

Tony makes a noncommittal noise.

“No, really,” Peter insists. He bends, shifting so he can lick his way across the thin line that runs up the left side of Tony’s stomach; Tony arches into it, heart pounding. Peter has never done this before, never explored his flaws. It’s not usually something Tony likes anyone to spend time on, but it’s hard to be worried with Peter’s lips tracing their way up his body, his tongue stopping to flick over Tony’s nipples, working them to hardness as his fingers continue their dance along his skin.

By the time Peter is back on top of him, hovering, eyes meeting eyes, Tony is panting with want. It takes all his self-control not to grab Peter, toss him to the side, crawl on top and take. It’s worth waiting to see Peter gazing down at him, hair flopping across his forehead, cheeks flushed with arousal.

“Seriously, Tony,” he says—and god, it’s been a month, but Tony is still not used to hearing his name in that mouth, the way Peter draws it out, luxuriates in it, as if he’s getting used to it, too—“I’m jealous.”

Tony laughs, incredulous. He’s not ashamed of the crisscross of marks, exactly, but he doesn’t flaunt them either. Certainly they’re nothing to be jealous of compared to the soft smooth perfection of Peter’s body, lines of unbroken skin stretched tight over lithe muscle.

“Now you’re just being condescending,” he accuses.

He’s teasing, of course, but Peter’s eyes get big and sincere as he shakes his head. “You get to show off all the awesome things you’ve done,” he says, adjusting slightly, ass nudging against Tony’s cock. Tony hisses, hands finding Peter’s rib cage. He forces himself to just rest them there, even though what he wants is to push him back, increase the friction. “Each one is another brave thing you did. It’s so cool.”

Tony is ready to protest, but then Peter is kissing him again, more urgent, jabbing tounge, nipping teeth. One hand rests at Tony’s chest, the other disappearing. Tony loses track of what they were talking about, of where that hand went, of anything but the simple pleasure of being kissed by the person he loves—

He’s shocked back into the present by the cool drip of lube being worked over his dick. Apparently that’s where Peter’s other hand had gone, grabbing the bottle from who knows where. Without warning, Peter positions himself and slides back, letting Tony press into him. He’s tight but welcoming; the hotness of it sends a bolt of pleasure through Tony’s core.

“No prep?” he asks, surprised, aching with the slow, agonizing joy of Peter’s movements as he carefully mounts him.

“Did that while you were sleeping,” Peter explains, eyes closing as he takes Tony completely. “Fuck, I love having you inside me.”

Tony feels his cock throb at the words, wonders if Peter can feel it too. Being inside him, tight and warm and most of all _close_, always leaves him desperate, on edge. It’s even harder now, when he doesn’t have control. He tries to keep some semblance of cool as he asks, “You…already prepped? Really?”

“Yep.” Peter leans forward to lick up Tony’s jaw, sending another shiver through his body. He ends at his ear, whispering, “I had a plan.”

“A plan, huh?” Tony honestly has no idea what to make of that, but he’s also not complaining, even if his entire body feels like it is going to burst with need.

Peter nods eagerly and then, as if to explain, he starts slowly rocking, dragging himself forward and then back, lips staying on Tony the whole time: his ears, his neck, sucking until he moans, until he arches, until his hands are scrambling on Peter’s back, looking for purchase. Until the slow, building pleasure of it makes him wild, craving more: so near the peak, but not enough to get him there.

“Was your plan to kill me?” he gasps, hips thrusting up involuntarily. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever Peter is doing, but it’s getting almost impossible not to chase pleasure.

“Insert pun about the little death here,” Peter jokes, pulling back to look Tony in the eye. He sounds as breathless as Tony feels, lips swollen, eyes glistening. He stops moving and simply stares; for a few moments, there’s nothing but the pounding of their hearts and ragged gasping as they both seek air. Then, amused tone gone, he adds, “No, my plan is to show you.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. Maybe his brain is half mush from the thrill of it all, but he’s pretty positive that’s nonsense.

Peter licks his lips and then quietly, so quietly, explains, “Tony, I love you. You know that, right? I know we haven’t said it, but you have to know.”

_I love you._

He. Did he say that? 

The room drops away, the world drops away, everything drops away: all that’s left is Peter, blinking down at him, unsure. Tony tries to move his lips, tries to make words go. He’s normally so good at words, why can’t he make words? His throat contracts around them, barely allowing him to rasp out, “You…what?”

Peter’s expression does something Tony hasn’t seen before. It goes soft, but without the signature wide-eyed need to please that usually goes hand in hand with the softness. No, he looks…protective, almost. Except that’s not how that runs—Tony does the protecting, not the other way around. But as Peter cups the back of his neck, lifting him to sitting, enveloping him in a soft kiss, Tony wonders if maybe he’s wrong. Because for a disorienting moment he does feel protected. He wraps him arms around Peter’s back, letting his face fall to his shoulder, breathing him in.

Yeah, he does, he feels completely protected. Is it weird that also makes him really aroused?

“I do, Tony,” Peter whispers into his hair. “Holy shit, I love you so much. You don’t even know.”

And then he starts to move again, bouncing slowly on Tony’s cock, thighs flexing. Tony wants to drown in this feeling. Just, let him die like this, it would be worth it. “Pete…”

“No.” Peter’s hands are suddenly on his face, making him look up. Their foreheads press together. “My turn.”

“Your…?”

“To tell you.” He’s still moving, faster now, but his voice barely shows it. A little breathiness behind the words, maybe, but they’re firm and clear as he continues, “To tell you how lucky _I _am. I mean, oh my god, I’m fucking _Tony Stark_, do you know how much I fantasized about this? Like literally all the time. It’s so cool. You’re a literal dream come true.”

Tony’s fingers go stiff on Peter’s back, his heart clenching, a familiar flash of pain piercing his chest. If there’s one thing he’s heard too much in his life, it’s that: _I’m fucking Tony Stark, isn’t that cool? _Like he’s a collector’s item to show off to friends later.

“Hey, no.” Peter’s movements slow. His lips brush the corner of Tony’s mouth, and then his chin, and then his nose: impossibly sweet. “The real thing is so much better.”

Tony’s stomach swoops; he clasps Peter tighter, a little dizzy. He grasps at a reply but doesn’t get there before Peter starts speeding up again, muscles tightening around him, knocking coherent thought straight out of his brain.

“I mean, _wow_,” Peter continues. His fingers on Tony’s face curve, pressing into his skin, just the right side of painful. “The things you do to me. I didn’t even know, I had no idea, _no idea _I could feel that good.” His voices catches; his dick spurts precome where it’s caught between their stomachs. “I had no idea I could feel _this _good. Just being near you, god, you—”

He mashes their lips together, kiss fierce and taking, matching the movement of his body. But only for a few moments, and then he’s back to talking, voice trembling now, his pleasure clear, lighting each word on fire, so bright Tony can feel them down his spine. “You’re so much more incredible than I ever thought. And that was a really, _really _high bar. The way you take care of me. Fuck, Mr. Stark, _Tony_.”

Peter’s eyes are wet when Tony catches them, blazing with an emotion Tony feels in his own chest, so good he almost can’t stand it. He wants to give something back, wants to say—_something_, anything, but he’s overwhelmed and Peter’s so strong, moving so confidently, bouncing with abandon, tightening, pushing him, and most of all those words, those words that don’t let up—

“I’ve never wanted anything more, Tony, god, you make me feel so safe, so loved, I _fuck_—I love you, I love you so much, you have no idea, I can’t—I’m not saying it right, I just, all I want is this, all the time, you, you’re amazing, you’re perfect—”

Peter thrusts down with a high moan, squeezing around Tony’s dick. Tony’s orgasm almost knocks him out, pleasure so intense it leaves him heady, breathless, floating. He only just registers Peter bringing himself off with a few short strokes and a beautiful gasp of pleasure before they collapse back onto the pillows, panting, kissing, weak whimpers of overstimulated pleasure mixing with whispers: “I love you, I love you, holy fuck I love you.”

***

It’s not until Peter finally curls up against his chest, planting kisses against his collarbone, that Tony comes back into himself enough to realize his face is wet. He sticks out his tongue, licking around the edge of his lip and tasting salt. He must have been crying. Well, fuck.

He brings his hand to Peter’s hair, scratching, and feels him shiver against his body. “Kid, can I ask what that was?”

He sounds choked. Emotional. Damn. He’s getting soft in his old age.

(He should mind. He really does not mind.)

Peter peers up, eyes heavy. Tears clinging to his lashes, too. “You’re the genius, you figure it out.”

Tony laughs. Snarky shit. How did he ever get so lucky? “If you were trying to prove I _do_ deserve you, that was a hell of a way to do it,” he points out. But he can hear the smile in his own voice, the lightness that hadn’t been there last night. That hasn’t been there since he first let Peter kiss him under that damn mistletoe. “I’ve been around the block of a few times. Managing to give me a brand new kind of mind-blowing sexual experience is definitely a point in the ‘Peter Parker is far too good for me’ column.”

Oh, and there goes that blush, and the wide, eager eyes. Tony’s a little glad to see they were only making a temporary disappearance. (Hey, he can like things both ways. Call him selfish; he sure does.)

“A new…wow.” Peter bites his lip, suddenly looking bashful. It’s beyond adorable. “Okay, people haven’t been nice enough to you, I need to make up for it. Noted.”

Tony feels a part of him he hadn’t even known was tense smoothing out. “You’re _really _not helping your case here, kid.”

“Yeah, but now when you say that it actually does sound like a joke.” Peter plants a kiss on his chest, right in the center of his arc reactor scar. Then another over his heart. “If you don’t deserve me, then I don’t deserve you. So it balances out. That’s science, right?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony agrees, pulling him up for another kiss. He _definitely_ doesn’t deserve him, not even a little bit. But for the first time, he thinks maybe he really does have him. “That’s science.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-dated because it was originally posted anon for a fest. Sorry if you have already seen it.
> 
> As always, feedback is very loved <3


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